Thin Ice
by CheesyPeeps
Summary: The blood of Olympic figure skater, Rosalie Dale, was found covering a pair of ice skates in an empty apartment in London, However, Dale dies in hospital that same morning - halfway across the world in Australia. Holmes and Watson set out to the solve the case, when John finds himself alone with the culprits and in immediate danger. Casefic.
1. Chapter 1

'One pair of bloody ice skates at the crime scene,' John read aloud from the screen of his phone, before turning to the detective, who lay across the sofa in an expression of boredom. 'Interested?'

'No,' Sherlock replied in frustration. 'Even Lestrade's lot could work that one out. Not worth my time, nor my intellect.'

John rolled his eyes and continued reading despite his flatmate's words. 'No body, but the blood was traced back to Rosalie Dale, an American figure skater who was found dead this morning half way across the world in Australia.'

Before John could finish talking, Sherlock sprang out the sofa like a lightning bolt and raced to the door, donning his trademark black coat and blue scarf.

'Changed my mind. We're going to Scotland Yard,' he spoke with an air of urgency, yet John managed to detect a hint of excitement in his baritone voice.

'I told you you'd like this one,' the doctor gave a slight smile before hurriedly putting on his own jacket and rushing down the stairs after Holmes.

The detective had already stopped a cab and was climbing inside when John exited 221B. He joined Sherlock in the backseat. these journeys to Scotland Yard were always held in silence, so it was much to John's surprise when Holmes began something like a conversation.

'You said the victim was Rosalie Dale, yes?' he turned to John as he spoke.

'What? Oh, right, Rosalie Dale of America,' the doctor confirmed, raising a blonde eyebrow. 'Why?'

'I, uh, no reason.'

'You were trying to start a conversation, weren't you?' a smile found its way onto John's lips.

'That was the idea, yes,' Sherlock looked back out the window of the cab falling back into his usual silence.

Ten minutes later, the duo arrived at New Scotland Yard. Sherlock wasted no time in locating DI Lestrade, who was sitting at the desk in his office, a range of official-looking documents stacked into uneven piles around his computer. Sherlock swung the door open and entered without bothering to knock. John offered an apologetic smile at Greg as he followed Holmes inside.

'Tell me everything of importance,' Holmes demanded, coming to stand directly in front of the desk.

'Nice to see you, too,' Lestrade sighed. 'We found the skates in an apartment on East Lettsby Street...'

There had been no body, and no evidence of a body ever being there in the first place. The forensics team had taken a sample of the blood from the crime scene and managed to trace it back to Olympic figure skater, Rosalie Dale of America. Things had quickly grown complex when an internet search revealed that Dale had been found dead in her hospital room that same morning - in Australia.

The taxi ride back to Baker Street was without another attempt at conversation from Sherlock. John expected that the detective was too deep into his own mind to acknowledge anything else around him.

Once the pair arrived back at 221B, Sherlock began preparing the usual display of notes and photographs pinned to the wall. Meanwhile, John strolled into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Tea was about the only thing other than water that the detective would consume when working on a case. Watson was a doctor. He knew it wasn't healthy for Sherlock to go such long periods without food, but he had never managed to convince him of that fact.

'Any progress?' the doctor inquired from the kitchen as the kettle boiled away.

'A back story,' Sherlock replied, eyes continuing to study the display. 'At the Winter Olympics in 2010, Dale's coach successfully bribed three of the judges for the Ladies' Free Skate in order to guarantee Rosalie first place. The authorities found out about the bribery a fortnight later, but chose not to disqualify Dale because the crime hadn't been her doing. That caused a bit of an outrage in the Japanese skating community, because their more experienced and quite frankly better performing skater, Minami Nakamura, had to stick with second place.'

'Anything else?' John carried two teacups through into the living room, handing one to Sherlock and keeping the other for himself.

'Yes, Dale retired the year later, claiming it was because her name had been blackened after the 2010 games. People fell for that. Idiots,' the detective almost growled the last word. 'You're a doctor, John. I expect you could deduce this one. Not that I haven't already.'

'Alright, no need to show off,' Watson replied, setting down his teacup and joining Sherlock before the wall.

John's eyebrows knitted together as he studied the images of Rosalie. By asking him to deduce it, Sherlock had already implied that Dale's reason for retiring was a medical issue. It only took a moment before the doctor noticed the skater's feet, which caved inwards towards each other. Flat footed. His gaze moved upwards to her knees, which also turned inwards, and the then to her hips. John took the marker pen blue-tacked against the wall and pulled the lid off before drawing a thick, black line from Dale's left hip to her right. The right side lay noticeably higher than the left. Watson drew another line across the skater's shoulders, which also proved to uneven, with the left side lying higher than the right. He clicked the lid back on the pen and took a step back.

'Scoliosis. Her spine was twisted,' the doctor concluded, earning a nod from Holmes in confirmation.

'Idiopathic scoliosis,' Sherlock went on, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. 'But something isn't right. People don't lie because they enjoy it, John. Dale lied about her reasons for retiring. Nothing I have here has told me why.'


	2. Chapter 2

'Idiopathic scoliosis,' Sherlock went on, crossing his arms and furrowing his brow. 'But something isn't right. People don't lie because they enjoy it, John. Dale lied about her reasons for retiring. Nothing I have here has told me why.'

'Well, scoliosis is common in teenage girls, yes? If Rosalie were to admit to retiring due to her back, it could tell those girls that they can't succeed without a straight spine,' John responded, talking between sips from the teacup he held in his right hand.

Holmes nodded briefly but then became silent, retreating back into his own mind. If John were to say something more, his voice would no-doubt be ignored. It often seemed that Sherlock was oblivious to the world located beyond his thoughts.

The day went on in such silence. Eventually, the detective retired to his chair, adopting his signature 'thinking' pose: palms together and placed beneath the chin. Every so often, he would rise and approach the wall to scribble something seemingly nonsensical onto the display and mutter something in John's direction. He could rarely follow the pace at which Holmes's mind worked. A case that would surely take the doctor weeks to complete, Sherlock would have finished within days. His intellect continued to amaze John as it had the first time the duo had met.

'_Afghanistan or Iraq?' _John could still recall almost every word.

As Watson awoke the next morning, his ears were met with the melodic sound of a violin. Such music was far from uncommon inside 221B, and yet John never tired from hearing it. Sherlock's playing was so natural, so precise, much like his way of thinking.

'I'll be out till at least four thirty this afternoon,' the doctor spoke as he walked through into the kitchen for breakfast. Holmes plucked the strings of the violin, failing to give any response.

'Sherlock,' John glanced at the detective. 'I've got work and-'

'And then a medical appointment straight afterwards,' Sherlock interrupted, vision never leaving the instrument. 'Something about abdominal pain.'

'Yes, yeah,' Watson nodded in surprise. He had at no point told the detective any of that. 'How did you- Never mind. Did you want breakfast?'

'No.'

'Right. Stupid question,' John sighed, retrieving a single slice of Kingsmill 50/50 bread from the half-empty bag on the countertop and dropping it into the toaster. Eighty seconds later, it popped back up with a high-pitched 'ping'. He spread a layer of Baxter's strawberry jam across the toast before hurrying out the door, grabbing his briefcase on the way.

Sherlock waited till he heard the front door shut to lay down his violin. The detective would surely pick it up again later, but at this moment, he needed to rely on the internet rather than his own mind. Holmes picked the laptop up from its spot on the floor and opened it upon his lap. The detective brought up Google and searched for YouTube, although these days, simply typing the letter 'Y' was enough to find the video network. Entering the name 'Rosalie Dale' into YouTube's search bar summoned several videos of short news reports on both the skater's bribery and retirement. Within the mix was a scattering of recordings from Dale's various performances. Sherlock needed to watch her skate in order to make a proper deduction about the severity of Rosalie's scoliosis. From what photographs he'd seen, her spine's curve was surely beyond the point at which treatment was necessary.

Sherlock clicked on the video of her Vancouver 2010 performance and maximised it to full screen. In the film, Dale adopted her starting position, pushing off into a backwards glide as the music began. The skater switched onto the inside edge of her left blade before stepping onto the right skate and executing several clockwise rotations in what Holmes believed to be known as the 'camel' position. Rosalie exited the spin on a left outside edge and performed a range of elements as the music progressed into a broad crescendo. She took off forwards from the right blade into a double axel jump, consisting of two and a half rotations. At that point, he stopped the video. What he had seen so far was enough for Sherlock to be certain of her condition.

Holmes closed the laptop and returned it to the spot on the floor. He needed to think. No, no. He needed to talk. This was why John going off to work was such a nuisance. As much as Sherlock enjoyed the fact that the skull on his mantlepiece didn't ever interrupt his thinking, it often just wasn't enough. Watson talked back, and he wasn't an idiot, unlike most people the detective had come across. No, the skull wouldn't do this time.

Instead, Holmes took the violin and began to compose, playing whichever notes his mind pleased.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the brand mentioned in this chapter.

Thank you so much for reading, and I'd love to hear any feedback you have.


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